Ashamed.

 I hate bloggers. The majority are boring arses who deem themselves pretentious enough to write page-long essays on their mundane and uninteresting lives. My life is quite the opposite, filled with exciting frolics, and flights of fancy. These ‘blogs’ therefore will be referred to only as ‘articles’, lectures if you will, spouting my cynical  and small-minded views on the inter-webs for your intellectual pleasure. Hah, what’s pretentious about that?

Disappointment.

Picture the scene. I race into my local No Frills 5 minutes before closing. Hastily grab a bag of, what I believe are Chocolate Raisins and hand them to the despondent cashier. The stupid bitch couldn’t operate a till to save her life, she needs to take a few leaves out of my book methinks, she dropped my change ALL OVER the fucking floor; I didn’t care though :-  I was about to indulge in one of my all-time favorite confections. The Chocolate Raisin. 

I got home, tore open the bag and greedily shoveled a handful into my, now watering mouth…

No.

Please; No?! Chocolate Peanuts… Peanuts. WHAT THE FUCK. Disappointment has never hit so hard. I spat them out in disgust and sulked for literally minutes.

This is my life. 

In my family, when you feel like going to town, you take the bus. I have no problem with this, I’ve ridden the bus countless times, I know everything about bus culture.

First off, there is always a girl in tears. She’s sitting at the front, maybe staring at a text message, weeping and sobbing.

Who could forget the group of loud teenage boys at the back? I’ve not once been on a bus without a pack of kids playing drum and bass beats from their phone speakers. They can afford their ridiculous fitted caps but no headphones, I suppose.

Last November I was on the bus, flipping through the paper, making my way to a bulk barn. The ride seemed quite typical at first, but that was about to change. The bus came to a screeching halt, and I looked to see who would come on board.
Everybody does it.

We’re always curious to see who’s next to join us in that unsanitary hell.

As I set my newspaper in the seat next to me, I noticed a large woman enter the bus. She was the kind of woman that you would snicker about with your friends if you where at the mall. I apologize if that sounds horrible.

This woman could plainly see that over half of the bus seats where empty, but she decided she would plop right down next to me. I noticed she was about to sit in the seat where my newspaper was resting. I paid for that paper and I didn’t want it to be sat on, so I quickly reached out to pull it away.

To my horror and disgust, she sat on my hand.

Manscarves

We've all seen them.

On the street, in the coffee shops, inside Costablanca,

But what are they?

They are men who sport frilly, vibrant and FLAM-BOYANT scarves.

WHY? WHY GOD, WHY?